


taste testing

by arcanawildcard, clairelutra (exosolarmoon)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Background Team Bonding, Cooking, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, very slight canon divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 06:10:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17761292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arcanawildcard/pseuds/arcanawildcard, https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/pseuds/clairelutra
Summary: It's notpulling pigtails,it's just really satisfying when she blushes like that.





	taste testing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [introvertednerd](https://archiveofourown.org/users/introvertednerd/gifts).



> HELLO MY GOOD FELLOW INTROVERTEDNERD. you have no way of knowing how loud i squeaked when i saw akirann in the open pinch-hits, but rest assured that it was very loud.
> 
> you requested bonding that had nothing to do with phantom thief stuff and akira making curry and akirann/akira&futaba ~~(/a few other ships that i didn't manage to nod at very well)~~ and i hope this hits the spot~

It was three P.M. and Akira was making curry.

Leblanc was about as populated as ever, which was to say that there wasn't a real customer in sight as Ann and Ryuji held a fierce Pokemon battle in the middle booth, two handhelds held above Makoto's spread of study materials, Futaba sitting on a bar stool and playing taste-tester for the spice tweaks Akira was trying out.

(Haru had a company meeting, Morgana had gone with her as moral support, and Yusuke hadn't been heard from since yesterday, which most likely meant that he'd entered art-mode and someone was going to be taking some of Akira's failed revisements to him on their way home—probably Ann, seeing as her house was just past his dorms.)

Futaba, who was much pickier than certain starving artists Akira knew, wrinkled her nose over the dish he'd just handed her.

"Too much cumin?" he guessed.

"And pepper," Futaba said, but she still swiped a finger through the remnants and stuck it in her mouth.

He sighed and set the test bowl next to its five other, similarly rejected siblings.

So take those down... maybe he could add cardamom and paprika? Or maybe the tang of tamarind would achieve a better balance...

Behind him, the contestants were muttering things like _take that!_ and _ngh..._ and _haHA!_ and there was a certain kind of lulling peace to it, hearing Ann's musical laughter dance over electronic BGM and Ryuji's quiet cursing, Makoto's thoughtful humming and the tap of Futaba's nails on the bar barely audible over the spectacle.

Halcyon days, and all that.

"There's _more_ pepper in this one," Futaba said dryly after she tasted the seventh bowl.

"Huh?" He could have sworn...

"Maybe if you stopped spacing out while adding the spices..." she sing-songed under her breath, the smile playing around her lips saying she knew _exactly_ what he was spacing out over.

Or, you know, _who_ he was spacing out over.

 _"Yes!"_ Ann cried, pumping her 3DS in the air while Ryuji melted into the table with a long, warbling, "Noooooo..."

"The queen reigns _supreme,"_ Ann gloated, flipping a pigtail over her shoulder and her eyes sparkling with glee, the curve of her lips about as distracting as the hollow of her neck.

"That title's not even _yours,"_ Ryuji groaned, chin rested on wood.

"Oh, I think I can lend it out to a good cause," said Makoto, not looking up from her worksheet.

Ann flashed a victory sign and an enchanting smile, and Ryuji slumped onto the table again.

"Hey! Ann!" Futaba called out, smirk not wavering. "Akira needs a second taste tester."

Ann glanced over, still glowing, and Akira's stomach flipped. "Oh, yeah, sure thing."

He shot Futaba a Look.

Futaba beamed unrepentantly and as Ann stepped up to the bar, she added in an undertone, "He's gonna run out of material soon—think you could help chop vegetables for the next batch?"

"Huh?" Ann glanced at the collection of bowls and the industrial-sized pot and blinked, surprised. "Okay."

Futaba _really_ didn't want him to make any progress on this, huh.

Still, he ladled Ann a tasting dish of the latest attempt.

Ann tipped it against her lips, unconsciously graceful, and hummed thoughtfully, pink tongue flashing to catch a stray drop of sauce. "This is _really_ good. If you had to make it better... maybe less pepper?"

"Told you," said Futaba, like he hadn't heard her the first time.

Akira narrowed his eyes at her, even as the praise sat warm somewhere under his breastbone.

He was, however, forced to concede that he couldn't remember how much he'd added last time, and with Ann slipping around to the barista side of the bar and gently bumping his shoulder as she inspected the last serving of curry in the bottom of the pot, he suspected he wouldn't remember it _this_ time, either.

* * *

He did not. There was still too much pepper. He was definitely considering just dumping the pepper altogether.

Possibly into the trash, except then Sojiro would ask and Morgana would make not-quite-judgemental noises about his reasons and then his maturity and—no.

Which left him bumping elbows and shoulders and sides with Ann as they navigated the tiny kitchen together, hyperaware of her body heat seeping through his clothes and her perfume mixing criminally well with the spices in the air.

(Maybe what the curry was missing was jasmine and sugar.)

It was her idea to actually _write down_ the tweaks he was trying. It just plain hadn't occurred to him; Boss had made him memorize Leblanc's spice blend, so why would he need something like a recipe for this?

As it turned out, actually writing down what was added in each attempt kept him from adding too much pepper again. _Who knew._

It was all too easy to fall into a rhythm, familiarity from fighting shadows making it even easier. He knew how she was going to move, she knew how he was going to move, and the livewire-sparking brushes were just a natural consequence of being so close.

(He always tried to avoid thinking too much about how well they worked together; the longer he dwelled, the more it ached.

He knew where he stood. Someone who could have anyone wouldn't choose him, and Ann had a long queue of hopefuls. He would support her, no matter what, but... he wasn't going to pretend he wasn't in the line.)

Together they cooked another pot of curry, then set about testing spices through another series of bowls, both of them vetoing each for some reason or other, until the last bowl.

Akira pulled out the bottle of dried jasmine on impulse, whirling a flower in the spice grinder for better quick infusion, and snagged one of the canisters of sugar, adding both alongside the paprika they'd decided was indispensable.

Ann looked at him like he was crazy until he offered her a taste.

She froze once she'd rolled it over her tongue, eyes going wide.

"This is _it!"_

And it was.

The jasmine was unnoticeable in the overall flavor, but lent the body that elusive _richness_ that he'd had been looking for. The sugar mellowed the spices and brought out the apple notes. Both of them were exactly what the doctor ordered.

"Wow, I never would have guessed a flower was what we were missing," Ann mused, inspecting the bowl. "That was pretty genius."

"Couldn't have done it without you," he said as he added the last two items to the list and started putting away the variety of jars and canisters littered between the bowls.

She preened, smug, and bumped his shoulder. "We make a pretty good team, huh?"

"Always."

She ducked, smile sweeter than the sugar he was putting away and just as shy.

Akira focused on making sure the cinnamon was facing the correct way and perfectly in line with the other jars.

"Hey, Futaba—" Ann started, turning, then finished with: "Huh? Where'd she go?"

It wasn't _surprising_ that Akira had entirely forgotten about his first taste tester for the past hour or so (shit, had it really been that long?), but it was still pretty embarrassing.

As it turned out, she'd gravitated over to the booth that held the others and taken possession of Ann's 3DS, and was now battling with Ryuji. Makoto had abandoned her studies in favor of leaning on Ryuji's shoulder and helping him strategize. He was listening intently with a scowl and fingers poised over the buttons.

From the looks on their faces, Akira gathered that Futaba was winning.

"...It's kinda nice like this, isn't it?" Ann murmured next to him, confidential and _soft_ in more than just volume.

"Mm," Akira agreed. Especially with her standing so close that he actually had to work _not_ to touch her.

Then she giggled. "It feels like I'm a barista or something on this side of the counter, though."

"Enjoying the coffee-curry life?"

She flashed him a glowing grin and a peace sign. "You bet."

(Theoretically, he could wrap his fingers around hers, lace them together, reel her in. Theoretically, he could duck down and kiss the corner of her mouth, touch velvety skin and feel the rush of a gasp. Theoretically, he could just _tell her_ —)

"You're welcome here anytime."

"Yeah?" Her shoulder brushed his as she rocked back on her heels, the timbre of her voice going feathery around the edges. She tilted her chin back, unconsciously inviting, and the suppressed fantasy got louder.

There'd been a reason kissing her would be a bad idea, hadn't there?

"So... do you two want to get a room, or should we move?" Makoto broke in, mildly amused.

Akira nearly jumped out of his skin.

"No!" Ann yelped, flapping her hands. A pretty blush blossomed on her cheeks as she spoke. "No, no, no! We're not— It's not— This isn't what it looks like—!"

Makoto was confused. "It's not?"

"No!"

"It... looks like two friends standing around and having a moment."

"Oh. I. Um. W-Well..." The blush darkened.

"What'd you think it looked like?" said Ryuji, who was apparently paying more attention than Akira had given him credit for.

"Erk. N-Nothing! Nothing. Nothing, I swear."

Makoto peered at the 3DS screens again and then used her pencil to gesture at one of the options. "The lady doth protest?" she asked innocently.

"She _does._ There's nothing going on here, end of story."

"Ah, I think my heart is breaking..." Akira murmured, delicately glancing away when Ann whirled on him with a scarlet-faced scowl. "Did we really mean nothing to you...?"

She jabbed his chest with one impeccably manicured finger. _"You_ aren't helping!"

He raised his hands in supplication, unable to entirely squash the smile.

 _"Shit!"_ Ryuji suddenly yelped, and the three of them jolted. His attention was fully devoted to his handheld once again. "When the hell did you—?!"

"Mwehehe," Futaba snickered, rebalancing on the balls of her feet. "You let your guard down."

"God _damn."_

Makoto winced at his screens. "Thaaat's gonna leave a mark."

Just like that, Ann and Akira was were forgotten again.

"What the heck..." she sighed, pressing the heel of her hand to her forehead, her blush slowly receding. "That was so embarrassing."

"You're cute when you're flustered."

Ann twitched, then slumped, long eyelashes dipping. "How do you just _say_ things like that?"

(Because it was safe. Her reciprocating—or even taking him seriously—was so far out of the realm of possibility that it was actually kind of relaxing, saying what he felt with only a token attempt at passing it off as a joke. Who needed to bottle their feelings when those feelings could instead be used to make your crush blush and squeak and flail? There was no risk, no reward except her pink-cheeked proof that he could _get_ to someone as untouchably lovely as her, even if just a little bit.)

"I have many talents."

She flicked his arm. "You're gonna _really_ break someone's heart one day." Then, before he could figure out how to reply to that, she turned back to the kitchen. "Come on, we should clean up."

* * *

When Yusuke's curry was squared away in the take-out containers Sojiro liked to pretend he didn't have, the two of them fell into the gentle rhythm of washing dishes, him washing and rinsing and her drying, fingers brushing over every one. It was a grounding thing, a silent communication, but that didn't make it any less electric.

Akira kept half an ear on the conversation happening behind them, but it washed over him most of the time, no attention to spare for keeping track of the words. He _did_ hear enough to gather that the three of them got into an argument, followed by Futaba declaring something about her consoles, followed by Ryuji and Makoto both inviting themselves over, followed by the jangle of the bells above the door as they left.

"Hey, Akira?" Ann said into the silence.

"Hm?"

She hesitated over the bowl in her hands, towel stopping somewhere along the bottom rim. "I... um."

Akira tilted his head.

"I love you."

Akira's heart made a concentrated effort at escaping through his mouth.

Then she giggled. "Just kidding."

He exhaled a silent wheeze, coughing on the inhale, pulse rattling his teeth and his head throbbing. "Wh-... what?"

"You always say stuff like that with such a straight face, I wanted to try it out." Her smile was smug as she nested the bowl next to its fellows on the rack. "It's easier than I thought it would be."

"Oh," he said weakly. Suddenly, he really wanted to go sit down. Maybe just... _not move_ for few hours. Maybe he'd recover enough by then to gain back those precious years she'd just shaved off his lifespan.

Unlikely, but possible.

"I guess you're just... never serious?" The corner of her mouth quirked in a way that was vastly less smug, almost sad as her elegant fingers traced the rim of the bowl. "It's so hard to tell sometimes, but _no way_ you'd be able to say it if you actually meant it, huh."

His heart was going to _pop._ How did he even _respond_ to this?

She glanced down at his hands, face falling in confusion, then glanced up... and froze.

"Are... are you _blushing?"_

No, his cheeks were on fire because of the heat from the (long faded) stovetop burners. This was all just a consequence of having inhaled too much fenugreek and ground poppy seed. A minor hallucination. A fever dream. The only possible explanation for all this.

Aloud, he only managed to croak, "Um."

The seam of her lips squirmed and stretched with unmistakable glee.

Akira had a _bad_ feeling about this.

"Hey, A-ki-ra," she murmured, halfway to a purr, swaying into his space and forcing him to take a step back to maintain a safe distance. "I really, really like you."

He swallowed hard. The edges of the sink dug painfully into his sudsy palm with how tightly he was gripping it, terrified that he'd drown if he let go.

He had _not_ expected it to backfire like _this._

"I can't believe _that's_ the key to your cool," she said, only as loud as she needed to be to fill the scant foot between them.

"Key to my what?" His voice cracked like crazy, but that was the least embarrassing part of all this.

"You're always so... so _composed,"_ she huffed. "It drives me crazy sometimes."

"Oh," he managed. "S-Sorry."

"...Mm." She was close enough that it was blatantly obvious when she glanced down at his mouth, her sly look fading for a spare second.

The rush of antsy energy that that little dip pumped into his veins was _intense._

"...Hey, Akira?" she breathed, the seductress vanishing like a ghost.

He was scared to ask, but he did anyway. "Yeah?"

"I... I love you—" A slow inhale, a slow exhale, and the tremulous edge to the words disappeared. "—and every time you... you say something like _that,_ all I can think about is how much I wish you meant it."

His blood pressure was doing something... _strange,_ his mouth bone dry, but those were very distant facts when her works were echoing off the walls in his empty brain.

She drew back and stuck her tongue out with a wink. "Kiiiidding."

(She hadn't been kidding.)

(Not one bit.)

She swung her arms for a second, then linked her hands behind her back and squeezed them tight. In a strained casual tone, she said, "We really should get back to the dishes."

Akira was a little busy searching for that reason not to kiss her. It seemed to have disintegrated when he wasn't looking.

"...Akira?"

(It always felt good to hear her say his name, but it had gained a punch now—cool and shivery sweet, heart-tripping and breathless.)

"Hey, Ann?" It took a two tries to say, because his voice wouldn't work the first time around.

She wouldn't look at him. He couldn't really blame her. "Y-Yeah?"

He reclaimed the step he took back, which had them nearly chest to chest, and traced a damp knuckle down her jaw, coaxing her to turn his way.

She did so with a wince that said, _time to face the music._

Incidentally, the 'music' was Akira leaning down to kiss her.

The angle was awkward—he was several centimeters taller than her and had closed the distance on his own, they were only half facing each other—but the touch... the _touch_...

Then she tilted her head back and let her lips catch on his, a slick click immediately followed by her pushing back into it, silky and musky and _sweet_ , and... _oh_...

 _Oh, oh, oh_...

It took three faltering attempts to stop, and by the time they'd separated—noses brushing and breathing air that was half-shared, half-fresh—he'd forgotten what he wanted to say. Everything was lost to the warm haze, the electric zap of Ann's heavy-lidded eyes fluttering open and meeting his own, distant and floaty and dizzy.

"....J-Just kidding?" Ann guessed in a whisper, open and so very, very vulnerable.

It took him a hot minute, but eventually their conversation filtered through the heady fog. "...No, never."

A blink, curiosity and hope—he could kiss her again, but then he'd lose track of this and he was... _pretty sure_ it was important.

"'Never'?"

"Always meant it," he admitted. Neither of their voices were particularly steady. "It was easy because you'd never believe me. Not because I didn't mean it."

( _You have me,_ he'd told her that last day with Shiho, and he'd meant that, too. She hadn't said a word, just slumped into the hug and clutched him tight as she cried herself out.

Somehow... it got easier after that. If she didn't get it then, then she probably never would.)

Ann stared at him for a long moment, gaze distant, then pulled away so she could facepalm.

"Now that you mention it..." She trailed off and heaved a rueful sigh. "That one... that one's on me, isn't it."

He tilted his head in half-concession, tingling mouth quirking into a smile. It was true that he'd stopped trying after a while, but it was also true that he'd been trying before he stopped.

The bells above Leblanc's front door jangled and Akira recoiled, pulse rabbiting erratically. _Third time today._

It was Sojiro.

He stared at the two of them—how close together they were standing, the brilliant blushes on both their faces, the embarrassment that was hedging into mortification—and heaved a deep sigh of his own.

"Look... I won't ask, just..." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Use protection, don't be a health hazard, and lock up when you're done."

Akira choked. Ann emitted a strangled squeak.

Sojiro ignored them. Pulling his hat lot, he turned around and opened the door, telling them, "I'm heading home," over the bells.

A thick, dense silence fell in his wake.

Akira coughed. "I'll... walk you to the station."

Ann dropped her head to his shoulder, breathed, then snorted a giggle, her shoulders shaking. "Sounds like a plan."

He gave into the urge to nuzzle her hair, then held her hand all the way to the train platform.


End file.
